Chicago Sestina

I am surprised by the streets of Chicagowhen the palm of winter grips them with snowas if to forgive the city’s mistakesand give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean– its fingers, the branches on all of the treeskneading the air that blows in from the lake.

I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake(until I set foot down the side of Chicago) breathing in through the streets and out through the treeswelcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s cleanas if to personally forgive my ...